


Play Back

by spookyawards_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s06e14 Monday, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-04
Updated: 2006-01-04
Packaged: 2019-04-28 04:17:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14441235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyawards_archivist/pseuds/spookyawards_archivist
Summary: Maybe it just takes something going wrong at thecrucial moment to set the cosmic video recorder on rewind.





	Play Back

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Spooky Awards](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Spooky_Awards), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [SpookyAwards' collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/spookyawards/profile).

Title: Play Back 

Author: mimic117 

Email: 

Rating: NC-17 

Category: S, smut, post-ep 

Spoilers: Monday -- A couple of scenes we didn't see toward the end of the episode. Written for the Fandomonium Virtual Season of Smut, Season 6 

Summary: Maybe it just takes something going wrong at the crucial moment to set the cosmic video recorder on rewind. 

Disclaimer: Not only do I not own these characters, I don't have anything to do with the MPAA rating code, either. For some reason, they're concerned that everyone will think they endorse this story. What a bunch of maroons. 

Thanks: To my Twinsy for her unceasing efforts to turn me into a better writer, and to xdksfan for the naughty idea that was just perfect for this story. 

Special thanks to Inside The X for their wonderfully detailed, often humorous, transcripts of the episodes. That woman in the bank really _did_ need to be slapped. 

Feedback: Is printed out, fawned over and stroked to tatters at 

Visit all my stories at the little house that XochiLuvr built http://www.mimicsmusings.com  
Your depravity levels may vary. 

* * *

Play Back  
by mimic117 

Monday  
7:13 AM 

Pens and paperclips went flying as Mulder swept the contents of Skinner's desk to the floor with one pass of his arm. The phone clanged as it bounced, the handset jouncing off the cradle, the sound of cracking plastic echoing over the hiss of panting breaths. A sheen of sweat on Scully's naked body glistened in the harsh fluorescent lighting as Mulder picked her up and laid her on the empty desktop. Her rosy-nippled breasts heaved with every panting breath, her eyes blazed lustful blue fire as they locked gazes. He gripped her thighs in his strong hands and pulled her to the edge of the desk, just far enough to impale her on his cock with one powerful thrust of his hips. She threw her head back and arched her spine, a moan vibrating in her throat as he slammed into her again and again. Beads of sweat dripped from his jaw, splashed onto her jiggling breasts, slid down the rounded slopes and pattered to the desktop. 

Mulder heard the office door open and then close, but he didn't stop relentlessly driving into his partner's beautiful body. His sweat rained onto her, fueled by the desire that burned through him, showering her with the evidence of his fiery need. 

"What the hell are you doing, Mulder?" Skinner's face moved into view, a puzzled frown between his brows. He bent down, out of sight, and came back up with the broken phone. "I was waiting for a call, you know. What's the meaning of this?" 

Mulder shook his head, as much to answer Skinner as to fling the water out of his eyes. Water plastering his hair to his forehead. Water pouring down onto Scully's bare stomach. Water. More water. There was water everywhere. 

Water? 

With a gasp, Mulder bolted awake. It was a dream. Wonderful, sensual, amazing, but still only a dream. 

Except for the water part. 

Shit! His bed was wet! That hadn't happened since he'd drunk too much soda at his cousin's graduation party. And he was five then. 

Wait. There was far too much water to have come from him. Mulder patted the mattress. The waterbed was leaking! 

When he pulled back the sheet, a jet of liquid hit him in the face. He wiped it away, then saw that more water was squirting the wall plug. He picked up the alarm clock. 

"Son of a bitch." The clock was shorted out. 

What time was it? He knocked his cell phone on the floor while grabbing for his watch. 

7:14. Fantastic. He was gonna be late for work and they were scheduled to attend a budget meeting first thing. Scully would kill him. He picked up his cell with the intention of calling her, but water poured out of the case. 

"Son of a -- " 

The thought had just formed that he could use his landline instead when the phone rang. Maybe it was her, calling to check on him. He swung his feet over the side of the bed into a lake. 

The carpeting was saturated. 

His luck stank. It wasn't Scully on the phone, it was his landlord. Water was pouring into the apartment beneath his and it looked like he had a lot of 'splainin' to do. 

He hung up the phone and rapidly did some calculations in his head. He'd have to give his landlord a check for the damages, but he didn't have enough in his checking account. Which meant he'd have to get his paycheck as soon as he got to the office and run to the bank to deposit it before he joined the meeting. He was going to be late no matter what. Another ten or fifteen minutes weren't going to matter one way or the other. 

But first he needed to do something about the water. 

When bailing didn't work and his pajamas were soaked to the point of transparency, he gave up and got ready for work. Traffic wasn't on his side, either, so he was later than he'd expected to be. He was opening his paycheck when Scully walked in. 

"I know, I know. I missed the meeting." 

"No," she drawled, "you're extraordinarily late for the meeting. We just got up to take a break so I thought I'd see if you were here yet." 

Mulder separated the check and the stub none too gently, wincing when the check tore. He grabbed a pen, turned the check over and scribbled his name as he said, "You haven't seen me, I was never here and I will be back as fast as I can." 

"What's wrong, Mulder?" 

He snorted. "Nothing's wrong. I'm having the best damned day of my life. There's a bluebird on my shoulder and he shit in my coffee, which I haven't had time to get, by the way." 

"Yeah. I've had those days since working here, too." 

He jumped up and headed for the door, paycheck in hand. 

"Then you'll understand if I don't stay. I have to get this deposited or the check I just wrote to my landlord for water damages will bounce and I'll be living on the streets, panhandling for video money." 

"Water damage? What -- " 

He held up his hand. "Look, I'll explain it all later. Just cover for me, will you?" 

Scully gave him an incredulous look. 

"When don't I?" 

"Thanks, partner. Be right back." And he was out the door. 

The bank was crowded. That figured. Anytime you're in a hurry... 

Fifteen minutes later he was still in line and fuming. Two tellers were open and wouldn't you know it? The two people at those windows were doing a year's worth of banking. If he didn't keep his thoughts off what a rush he was in, he'd pull out his badge and cause an embarrassing disturbance. He tried to occupy his mind with puzzling out exactly why he had a waterbed in the first place and why it had sprung a leak. He hadn't figured out either question when all hell broke loose inside the bank. 

"Nobody move! This is a robbery!" 

The man waving a gun around was scruffy-looking -- sweaty hair, unkempt beard, wild eyes, over-sized flak jacket. He'd been standing at the counter writing out a withdrawal slip when Mulder walked in. He'd been there all that time? Now what? 

"Everybody on the floor! Start emptying the drawers into this bag. No dye packs, no alarms. Do it the way the insurance company taught you!" 

Okay. Mulder raised his hands and knelt down on the floor. 

The woman next to him started to scream. He suppressed the urge to slap her. It would make him feel better but it wouldn't help the situation. "You're in charge here," he said to the gunman. 

"You're damned right I'm in charge," the gunman replied. "Now shut up!" 

Mulder could see the door from where he lay and what he saw turned his blood cold. 

Scully. She'd come looking for him at the worst possible moment and her fibbie radar was switched off. She probably couldn't see anything through the windows. She was walking into an explosive situation and the fuse was already primed. 

"HEY!" Mulder knew he stood a chance of getting a bullet in the head, but he had to try. "Lock the door. You forgot to lock the front door." 

The gunman turned toward the front of the bank just as Scully pulled the door open and stepped through. Like the trained professional she was, she sized up the situation and had her weapon drawn in a split second. But so did the gunman. Mexican stand-off. 

Mulder used the distraction to get quickly to his feet and unholster his own gun. The scream of the woman next to him pulled the robber's attention back before he could draw a bead. Mulder felt the bullet slam into his chest before the sound of the shot registered. He hit the floor, hard, blessedly numb to the pain that he knew was only seconds away as he blacked out. 

He really should have slapped that woman when he had the chance. 

When Mulder regained consciousness, he could tell he wasn't on the floor anymore. He was lying on something soft but lumpy. He felt an intense burning in his chest with pressure from above. The pressure moved slightly. He opened his eyes to see Scully's pale face hovering over him. There were tears in her eyes but she was holding them back. He realized that he was in her lap and she was applying pressure to the wound in his chest. One hand stroked his cheek while the other one tried to plug up the hole. Her hands kept shifting. 

Blood. His skin must be slippery with blood. Lots of blood, judging by the way he felt. He could still breathe, but he couldn't find the energy to move. No lung damage then. The bullet probably nicked an artery and he was bleeding to death. Well, he'd heard it wasn't a bad way to go. You just got weak and sleepy and sort of drifted off without waking up. He was already weak. How much time did he have? 

"You're in charge here, Bernard," Scully said. "It doesn't have to end like this." 

It sounded like she'd already been trying to negotiate. She wasn't trained for it, but they didn't have much to work with. Might as well give it a try. 

Outside the doors, Mulder saw dark shadows advancing. The SWAT team. If only they could get close enough -- 

Nope. The gunman saw them, too. He pulled open his flak jacket and Mulder nearly stopped breathing in surprise. 

Explosives! Lots of them. Enough to take out this building, everyone in it and probably a couple of shops next door. It appeared he didn't have to worry about bleeding to death. They were all going to be turned into confetti. 

The robber's face looked sad. "Yeah. It does." 

He thumbed a red switch on the explosives pack, there with a quiet click, and then it all went black. 

* * *

Monday   
7:15 AM 

Pens and folders went flying as Mulder swept the contents of Skinner's desk to the floor. The phone rang once before it hit the carpet to the sound of cracking plastic. Droplets of sweat glistened on the pale skin above Scully's lacy bra as Mulder picked her up and laid her on the empty desktop. He ripped off her matching panties and threw them over his shoulder. Her breasts heaved with every panting breath as he gripped her thighs and pulled her to the edge of the desk. She threw her head back and arched her spine as he impaled her with one deep thrust. She moaned as he slammed into her again and again. Beads of sweat dripped from his jaw, splashing onto her jouncing breasts; they slid down her rounded slopes and pattered to the desktop. 

Mulder heard the office door open and then close. 

"What the hell are you doing?" Skinner's face moved into view. He bent down, out of sight, and came back up with the broken phone. "You're supposed to call before coming to my office. What's the meaning of this?" 

"He's got a bomb," Mulder replied. 

"What?" Scully stood on the other side of the room, professional suit tidily in place along with her frown. Mulder stuck his hands in the pockets of his dress pants and rocked on the balls of his feet. 

"He's got a bomb," he repeated. "He's got a bomb. He's got a bomb. He's got a bomb." 

Skinner glared at him. "Are you all right, Agent Mulder?" 

Mulder shook his head, as much to answer Skinner as to fling the water out of his eyes. 

Water? 

He jerked awake. The newspaper had just hit the door. Sitting up, he swung his feet onto the floor. The carpeting was soaked. What the hell? 

The bed was wet! And the alarm clock. And his cell phone. The damned waterbed had sprung a leak. There was water everywhere. 

The bedside phone rang, irate words in his landlord's voice spilling out into Mulder's ear as he only gave half his attention to what was being said. This all felt familiar. The soaking bed. The phone call. The dream -- but not the words he kept repeating in his dream. What did those mean? And why did he suddenly have such a deep feeling of foreboding? 

He hung up the phone in a daze, knowing that he'd have to give his landlord a check for the damages, even though he didn't have enough in his checking account at the moment. He'd just have to get his paycheck out of his office desk and run to the bank to deposit it before he joined the meeting. He was going to be late no matter what. A few more minutes didn't matter one way or the other. 

Those thoughts felt familiar, too. There was something wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on it. 

Traffic was against him. He was at his desk, endorsing his paycheck, when Scully walked in. She had her "this better be good" expression already in place. 

"I know, I know," he said. "I missed the meeting." 

"You didn't miss the meeting. You're extraordinarily _late_ for the meeting." 

He knew she was waiting for an explanation, but he really didn't have time. Snatching up his check, Mulder touched her shoulder and said, "The bank's just down the street. Cover for me, will you?" Then he was out the door without waiting for an answer. 

Even that conversation felt like a copy. Sure, he'd probably said similar words to Scully in the past, but not under these exact circumstances. It wasn't just the words which felt eerily familiar, it was everything. The situation, the time of day, the order of events, what she said, what he said, what he was on his way to do. He wished he could grab hold of the memory, but every time he tried, it skipped out of range and hid. 

It didn't take him long to cover the distance to the bank. He was almost there when the sight of an ugly, rusted car caused his steps to falter. 

There it was again. Deja vu. 

Mulder wasn't sure why, but he felt compelled to stop next to the passenger window. The woman inside rolled down the window and looked at him without speaking. She was young, but her face was lined with worry. There were dark circles under her eyes, resignation in her expression. She looked like she'd been crying. A crushing sense of hopelessness turned her eyes into cavernous pits of despair, permeating her every movement with a feeling of utter futility. 

He leaned down. "Do I know you?" 

"Do you?" Her voice was as devoid of life and hope as her eyes. Yet she hadn't actually answered his question. 

"Yeah, you just look really familiar to me." 

"Do I?" 

"Yeah." She continued to stare at him and didn't respond. Mulder's certainty flagged even as his sense of familiarity grew. "No? Uh, all right. I'm -- I'm sorry to bother you." 

She rolled the window back up without saying another word. 

Inside the bank, Mulder's luck went about the same as it had all morning -- there was a long line. Even here, it seemed he was seeing things and people he'd already seen before. The tellers weren't a surprise. He was inside the bank at least once a month, sometimes more often. But he was pretty sure he didn't show up at the same day and the same time as all the other people in line. So why did he get the feeling that he knew them? 

Even the scruffy-looking guy at the desk, filling out a withdrawal form. Scraggly beard, long hair, over-sized flak jacket, grubby pants -- he knew that guy. Had seen him at least once before under similar conditions. 

Mulder looked away, out the bank's window at the run-down car, then back to the guy at the desk. There was something.... 

Terror gibbered in the back of his mind but wouldn't come out where he could get a good look at it. The two of them, the woman in the car and the man at the desk. They were connected. They'd been here before. They'd ALL been here before. Those two, the tellers, the people in line, him -- 

"He's got a bomb." 

The whispered words were out before Mulder realized he'd thought them. The dream. The words in the dream were referring to this situation. The man in front of him had a bomb under his jacket. Mulder didn't know how he knew, he just **KNEW.**

"He's got a bomb. He's got a bomb. He's got a bomb." 

He had to do something. He looked out the window again. The woman. Maybe she could help. Maybe she was important to whatever was happening. Should he leave and get her? No. Something might go down while he was outside and then he wouldn't be in a position to help. 

Phone. He could phone Scully. The sight of him using a cell phone inside the bank wouldn't be nearly as odd as it might have a few years ago. People whipped out their cells in the john, for pete's sake. Cell phones were as common as toilet paper these days. He would have Scully bring that woman inside the bank and still be where he could keep an eye on things. 

Mulder turned back toward the teller windows and pulled out his phone as unobtrusively as possible. He dialed Skinner's office and waited while Kim went to call Scully from the meeting he was missing. He'd told her it was urgent, but he knew she probably wouldn't put much weight into those words. They'd both used them so many times the phrase was becoming tired and worn. It seemed like hours before he heard his partner on the other end of the phone. 

"Mulder, where are you?" 

He hunched the phone into his shoulder and whispered, "I'm at the bank." 

"Yeah, I know where you are," she replied, exasperated, "but what's taking so long?" 

This was the important part, so he'd better get it right. 

"Scully, I need you to do something for me right now." 

* * *

Tuesday  
7:35 AM 

Folders went flying as Mulder swept the contents of Skinner's desk to the floor. The phone chimed when it hit the carpet. Perspiration gleamed on the pale skin above Scully's lacy bra as Mulder picked her up and laid her on the empty desktop. Her skin was soft to the touch, like silk beneath his fingers. He pulled off her matching panties and dropped them on the floor. Her breasts swelled with every inhalation as he tenderly caressed her thighs. He pulled her to the edge of the desk. She locked her gaze on his and arched her spine when he slid into her with one long thrust. She moaned while he slowly stroked in and out, again and again. Leaning over, he kissed her shoulders, down her collarbones to her breasts, caught the rosy-nippled tip through the sheer white lace and worried it with his teeth. 

A sudden blow on the apartment door woke Mulder, his arms instinctively going over his head. 

Dammit. Hell of a way to ruin a good dream. He needed to talk to the super about that paper carrier. 

He swung his legs over the side of the couch and sat up, drywashing the sleep from his face. His cell phone rang and he grabbed it sleepily from the coffee table. 

"Yeah?" he mumbled. 

"Mulder, it's me." 

What the hell time was it? For that matter, what day was it? He looked at his watch. Tuesday. 7:20. That was worse than yesterday. 

"I'm late again, aren't I, Scully?" 

He got up off the couch and walked to the door. 

"No, not yet, but Skinner wants to see us in his office as soon as possible. He's asking for our report on the robbery yesterday." 

He opened the door and picked up the paper lying on the floor. "I'll be there in an hour." 

"I'd like to hear it, too." 

He sensed her skepticism, even over the phone. 

"Well, you were there, Scully." 

"That's not what I mean. You still won't explain what happened yesterday -- how you knew that Bernard Oates was strapped with explosives." 

He didn't think she'd buy into dream precognition, so he just said, "Call it a feeling. 

"And it was also a feeling that he had an accomplice waiting in the car?" 

Mulder looked at the paper in his hand, a picture of Pam prominently displayed in one corner of the front page with the words "Woman Dies in Robbery Attempt" in bold type above it. 

"I don't think she was an accomplice," he murmured. "I think she was just trying to get away." 

Apparently, Scully picked up on something in his voice, because she changed the subject. "Are you okay?" 

No, he wasn't. But she didn't need to worry about that because he would be okay. Eventually. 

"I'll be there in an hour." 

He hung up the phone and tossed the paper onto the couch. Nature was calling. Time to get ready for work. 

Mulder stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He was already late, but he couldn't bring himself to hurry. He'd told Scully he would there in an hour. Any reasonable person would have rushed to dress and bolted out the door, but he wasn't feeling reasonable. There was nothing about the last twenty-four hours that felt the least bit reasonable or logical or possible. Yet he believed it happened. He couldn't remember each day, but he had a gut-level awareness that wouldn't allow him to accept any other explanation. He _knew_ they'd been reliving an entire day, over and over again, who-knows-howmany times. Pam would be the only one who might really know and she was dead. In order to break the cycle, she had to die. Why? 

And how widespread was this... time distortion? This temporal loop. Did it only affect the people directly in the vicinity of the anomaly? Pam, Bernard, Scully, him, the bank customers? No, that couldn't be right. Skinner's meeting would have been affected, too, as he and Scully came and went. The other people in the bank had lives, and those lives would have been touched by what was happening there. So it had to be affecting the whole city. Or the whole state. The country? The _world_? Was it only their lives on constant replay? Had the rest of the world gone on without them? Was it a different day in Scotland than it was in DC? A different month? Another year? Or had every person on the entire planet experienced the same repeating day? Were they all still on the same calendar page? Was it even possible to find out? 

Mulder closed his eyes and sighed. It was too big to consider, like trying to imagine the outer edge of the universe. He really didn't have time for this. He'd promised to be there in an hour. He opened his eyes and gave his reflection a stern frown. Standing around contemplating life, the universe and everything wasn't going to speed things up. He would have enough trouble trying to convince his partner and boss that his theory was feasible. Arriving at the meeting unshowered and uncaffeinated wouldn't earn him any brownie points with either of them. 

He didn't linger in the shower, but soaped, shampooed and rinsed in record time, despite his previous determination not to rush. There really wasn't any point in dragging it out. They needed to give their report on the previous day's events and that wouldn't happen until he was there to put his ass on the line once again. He shut off the water and threw back the shower curtain, only to be brought up short by his reflection in the mirror. 

He'd washed so fast it hadn't fogged over and he could see water droplets on his naked body sparkling in the light. It reminded him of yesterday's dream. Scully. Flashes of bare skin, glistening droplets. Sex. In Skinner's office. He smiled. That had been some dream! Last night's hadn't been as intense. It was similar, but more romantic, slower, more sensual. And no Skinner to spoil the fun. 

A growl from Mulder's stomach reminded him that there were other things to do besides stare in the mirror and relive his dreams. He quickly dried off and was already thinking about what suit to wear when he reached the bedroom, but the vague feeling of deja vu lingered as he dressed. He truly believed the day they'd just lived had repeated numerous times. But what about his dreams? Were they part of the cycle? Could he still be caught in the time loop? Or was duplicating an experience, even a dream, more common than science would have us believe? Maybe it just takes something going wrong at the crucial moment to set the cosmic video recorder on rewind. 

How many times had dream-Skinner broken up his love-fest with Scully? 

As he strode out of the bedroom, trying to decide where he could grab a traveling breakfast, his eye caught the newspaper lying on the couch where he'd left it. He picked the paper up and studied the picture on the front page. Pam smiled up at him, happy, relaxed, so different than he remembered. 

If yesterday's drama was the culmination of the same day rerunning for weeks and weeks, he needed to make Scully and Skinner see that. They only remembered one day -- one horrible day when the omission of a single detail could have thrown them back into the nightmare to replay it all over again. But Pam remembered all of them. Every single, horrifying day. Even if he could never explain it to anyone else, never make another person believe what he was certain of, he _had_ to convince Scully and Skinner. 

He'd been the one to drag Pam into the bank, but if he hadn't, they'd all be reliving the same day for the umpteenth time and she'd still be stuck in her own personal hell. Someone besides him had to accept the truth, to validate the sacrifice she made when she threw herself in front of the bullet meant for him and shattered the cycle. 

He owed Pam at least that much. 

* * *

**THE END**

This story drew some of its inspiration from "The Great Debate" by TCS1121, the most interesting, unique post-Monday fic I've ever read. You should be able to find it at Gossamer. Check it out. 

Feedback: 

Homepage: http://www.mimicsmusings.com 

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Title: **Play Back**  
Author: mimic117  
Details: 25k  ·  NC-17  ·  Standalone  ·  01/04/06  ·   Email/Website      
Gossamer Category(Keywords): Story   [Sex (PWP)]     
Characters: Mulder/Scully     
SPOILERS: Post-episode: Monday   
SUMMARY: Maybe it just takes something going wrong at the   
crucial moment to set the cosmic video recorder on rewind. 


End file.
